“Did you move that cereal box?” I ask.
My sister curls her lip and flashes a side eye.
“The one up there above the fridge? It wasn’t facing that way earlier.”
Again, her face reads my suspicious eyes, searching for words to refute my frivolous accusation. I paused, a wave of self awareness crashing over me like I’d stepped outside to realize I’d forgotten my clothes. Naked. Exposed. My expression shrunk, noticing the ridiculous monocle I held over my eye as I stared at the sloppy pile of words that had just escaped my mouth. What was wrong with me?
Why did I care if she had moved the cereal box, and what made me so quickly assume that whatever answer she offered would be anything but the truth? Was she out to get me by shuffling my items around the house to send me into a mental tailspin? Maybe it’s because that had been done to me before with something far more valuable than some cardboard boxes housing sugary carbs in cute crunchy shapes.
I’ve always been quick to read a room. To run my eyes along expressions and body language, listening for heavy sighs and waiting for the stern mouth to crack into a smile. Then, I can exhale. Until I have a grasp on everyone’s mood, it’s hard for me to just be. I’ve been told I have a timid presentation. My thoughts sometimes get lost in thinking behind the scenes that I forget to let my hands uncurl from tight fists or my back slouch just a bit. Exhausting.
Could it be a middle child quality? I remember my dad entering the house to the aroma of dinner on the stove. He’d drop his briefcase on the chair and let his keys crash onto the counter. My mind immediately fled the events of the living room and listened for his mood. My brother and sister carried on as usual, but I held my gaze as a new disposition joined the chaos. Whatever emotions he brought home, I invited them into myself to feel the same.
As I get older, I wonder if those tiny traits might’ve somehow morphed into something evil, like a drop of something precious being plopped into a bubbling pot of green goo that transformed innocent qualities into something toxic. Something that could destroy future relationships and that foreign yet sacred idea of a sound mind.
And is there a way to be free of the signals that alarm and the whispers that hint that what looks one way isn’t quite really that way? I search for an escape from the desire to wonder, to question, to look beyond the surface.
And then, someone wise said something wise. He said, “You don’t have to think for other people.”
I laughed a quiet, sad laugh. But if I don’t think for other people, then who will? People say one sentence but behind it is a paragraph of twists and turns like a juicy novel. If I simply hear only the few words then I’ll miss out on an entire story. What will my imagination do with its time?
They can’t possibly only mean what they say. Can they? I’m learning, maybe they do. Maybe some words are spoken in complete truth. Maybe my handy monocle isn’t necessary in all situations. Maybe I’m not foolish if I let my thoughts sit on the bench while someone else speaks. Would this be like playing dumb? Sure, let me pretend I have no clue what you really mean here; what that hint of a look suggested or what your longer-than-usual pause indicated.
I don’t have to think for other people. There’s rest in that. There’s innocence and purity in the practice. There’s selflessness and compassion in it. But…there’s also risk. I risk missing a signal that may have prevented me from tears or a sign that would’ve warned me to go a different direction.
But maybe that’s ok. Maybe it’s alright to feel a little something unpleasant for the sake of letting someone else’s words be just that. Someone else’s. Not mine.
